


Who Art In Heaven

by guardiandevil



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV)
Genre: But He Doesn’t Get One Because He Dies, Catholicism, Character Death, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, Hurt Foggy Nelson, Hurt Matt Murdock, M/M, Major Character Injury, Matt Murdock Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:21:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28397610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guardiandevil/pseuds/guardiandevil
Summary: Matt’s final moments with Foggy after he suffers a fatal injury as Daredevil.
Relationships: Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	Who Art In Heaven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sisirine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sisirine/gifts).



> This is probably the most painful thing I’ve ever written, but it’s a gift and comes from a conversation I had with a friend. There’s a line in bold towards the end (kinda) which are my friend’s words from out hcs, not my own! :)

It’s cold.

Matt realises this quickly. He can feel air against his face, though he isn’t entirely sure why because he could have sworn that he had his mask on. There’s concrete beneath him too, it’s wet and it makes his skin ache with its roughness but Matt can’t bring himself to stand up. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to, but his body is heavy and movement is just a little too far out of reach, so he wonders if he’s dreaming but knows that dreams don’t feel like _this_.

Icy wind ruffles through his hair and he feels the breeze between his eyelashes. He isn’t certain whether his eyes are opened or closed, but he supposes it doesn’t entirely matter because he doesn’t see a thing. There’s no radar or world on fire, but simply nothingness that neither begins nor ends and Matt is oddly comforted by it. He knows he should feel more, perhaps anxiety or even fear, but he feels nothing and it’s so, so good.

It’s not raining, though droplets fall against Matt’s face. They’re cool and yet they feel warm against his skin and he realises just how cold he is. The droplets trickle down his cheeks and Matt, even in his haze, realises they’re tears. For a moment, he thinks that they’re his own, but he hears Foggy’s heartbeat faintly and everything seems to make sense.

“Foggy?” He whispers and barely hears himself speak. There’s a hand on his arm and another in his hair and it doesn’t take Matt long to figure out that it’s Foggy holding him. He remembers little and knows even less but if Foggy is there, everything will be fine.

“Yeah, Matty, I’m here. You’re okay.” His voice is quiet - too quiet, Matt notices, and he can’t hear Foggy’s heartbeat anymore, nor the usual busyness of Hell’s Kitchen, not even his own stuttered breaths. It’s near silent and Matt knows he should hate it but doesn’t.

The world is calm and the fire is out, so Matt is calm too.

Liquid rolls down Matt’s side, along his ribcage and onto his stomach. His chest aches where the liquid pools from the tear in the Daredevil suit and each breath brings more blood into his lungs than it does air. Matt wonders for a while if he’s suffocating, but the air against his skin and between his lips provides him false hope as to otherwise.

“I’m- Am I bleeding?”

Foggy makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob and more tears fall onto Matt’s face. “You got stabbed, you asshole,” he tells him, though there’s no harshness or malice behind his voice and Matt barely has enough awareness to register how strange that is. Although he does, however fleetingly, think that Foggy is usually a lot less happy with him when he finds him beat up.

As he goes to reply, Matt’s throat constricts and blood rises up into his mouth. He’s sitting forward, though he knows it’s Foggy moving him because he couldn’t do so of his own accord. Matt’s grateful regardless because suddenly there’s copper on his tongue and it’s dripping from his lips as he coughs and splutters for air that is denied to him.

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, with Foggy holding Matt until the blood stops escaping his mouth, but he does know that by the time he’s being laid back down, it’s even quieter than it was before.

“I’m dying,” Matt says this time, and Foggy isn’t sure if it’s a question or not, but if it was, his choked sob would be enough of an answer. He shakes his head and presses himself closer to Matt, lips against his forehead and blood soaked hands holding him still.

Foggy’s cries cause Matt’s heart to break and he wishes he had the strength to hold onto him in return. “I’m sorry,” he tells him instead, and doesn’t quite understand it when Foggy sobs harder. 

“Why are you sorry, Matty? You didn’t do this, buddy, It’s not your fault.” Foggy’s voice is sincere and Matt doesn’t need to hear his heart to know that he believes what he’s saying, but all he can think is that it truly is no one’s fault but his own. Things were bound to go badly one day, but Foggy was never supposed to be there when it did.

Matt shakes his head regardless and pushes the thought aside. “ **I hated everyone for leaving and I’m doing the same thing to you, _I’m sorry_**.”

Though Foggy wants to tell him it’s okay, he doesn’t, because it’s not. His best friend is dying and there’s nothing he can do except hold him tighter as if it will stop him from slipping it away. Foggy knows what’s happening, he understands, but he hopes otherwise regardless.

“Do you... Do you think I’m going to hell?” Matt asks and Foggy thinks he sees a smile at the corner of his lips, though he has to force his gaze away before he can be sure. Seeing blood against Matt’s pale makes him sick and Foggy can no longer bear the sight, so he closes his eyes and buries his nose into Matt’s hair.

Foggy forces himself not to cry again.

“No, Matty. You did good, okay? Your dad... He’d be proud of you, you know that? I’m proud too, me and Karen. You worry the  hell  out of us, Matty, but we’re so proud of you. Always will be, you hear me? You did good, Matty, you did _good_.”

The tears that roll down Matt’s cheeks are his own this time, and Foggy’s bloodied fingers push them away as he nods. They’re silent for a while, Foggy listening to Matt’s shallowing breaths and Matt losing himself in the calmness of death.

“Will you pray with me?” Matt asks eventually, when he’s too tired to raise his head and the world seems to fall away from him piece by piece. Foggy’s fingers lace with his own and Matt faintly feels him squeeze his hand, though his skin is numb and he isn’t certain whether he’s imagining it or not.

He hopes he isn’t, but nothing feels real anymore, not even Matt himself.

“Yeah, Matty. You gotta say it with me, okay?” Foggy asks and takes the slight jerk of Matt’s head for a nod.

“Okay. Our father...” Foggy prompts, and Matt is sure that he feels him squeeze his hand this time.

“Who art in heaven,” Matt continues, voice barely audible above the rooftop wind that seems to pick his words up and carry them away.

“Hallowed be thy name.”

“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done.”

“On Earth as it is in Heaven.”

“Give us this day our daily bread.”

“And forgive us our trespasses.”

“As we forgive those who trespass a-against us.”

Foggy’s voice is all that Matt can hear now. He’s quiet and soft and feels too distant to be real, but Matt knows it is real and so he hangs onto it with whatever strength he has left.

“And lead us not into temptation.”

“B-But deliver us from... evil.”

“For thine is the kingdom.”

A soft sound leaves Matt’s lips, though it isn’t quite words and Foggy can’t stand it. He squeezed Matt’s hand again and pointedly ignores how cold he is to touch. His fingers are blue, as are his lips, and Foggy barely stops himself from kissing him one last time.

“Come on, Matty, we’re nearly done,” he encourages, “Stay with me. We’re almost there.”

Matt coughs again. Blood splatters into Foggy’s skin again but he barely notices.

“And the-... P-... Power-...”

“And the glory,” Foggy whispers, brushing his fingers back through Matt’s knotted hair. He hears a broken gasp and hazards a glance down to his best friend. Matt’s eyes are closed, his eyelashes no longer fluttering, and his lips pale and cracked beneath both drying and fresh blood. He looks dead and-

“For- f-for ever...”

“And ever.”

“Amen,” Foggy finishes, though his heart drops when Matt doesn’t finish the prayer with him. He places his hand flat against Matt’s chest, which no longer rises nor falls beneath his palm and, for the first time since finding Matt, Foggy lets himself cry properly, loud, unfiltered sobs that tear from his lips and echo across the otherwise empty rooftop.

“Please, Matty. Come on, I need you,” he sobs, begs, pleads, to anyone and everyone, but Foggy is alone.

There is no God, nor Devil, to answer Foggy’s prayers.


End file.
